


for a price

by MizMarx



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24868195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizMarx/pseuds/MizMarx
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Catra/Double Trouble (She-Ra)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	for a price

Catra was alone, listening intently to the mechanical hum of the fright zone. Gargantuan machines constantly turning and radiating a stifling heat, so much so, it almost felt alive. Almost. But despite the heat, her body ached with cold.  
She still sleeps curled up at the foot of her bed, Adora’s. Remembering a time when the sheets were warm, and she could feel Adora’s steady breathing, and she could sleep.  
But now it was empty. And the sheets were cold. And so was she. And despite something bitter and resentful, deep in her heart that like the fright zone, kept beating, and yet wasn’t really alive, rejected this notion- that she, Catra, was alone.  
She propped herself up on Hordak’s throne, not understanding why he wouldn't invest in a more comfortable one- waiting.  
Waiting for her. Always.  
The first week she was aware she was waiting for Adora.  
A door would creak open and her heart would flutter,  
“I knew you’d come back,” she’d say snarkily, because she wholeheartedly believed that she was there, that she had come back for her, Catra.  
And then it would be Kyle, who would quickly realize the mistake he made as Catra would fling anything within arms distance at him, yelling at him for being too loud. And then her voice would hitch, and her yells would break and softened into sobs. And then her sobs would stifle into silence, until one day she stopped crying. And then she stopped yelling. And then she stopped letting herself get excited. Eventually, she stopped even turning her head.  
But even now, years later. Whenever she heard footsteps behind her, whenever a door would open, whenever she’d see a shadow that vaguely resembled her, something small, meek, but hopeful would think quietly,  
“I knew you’d come back,”  
She didn’t say it out loud of course, but the thought was always there. Her ear would twitch and that was it. But it was there, it was always there.  
And then footsteps. Familiar footsteps. They thudded when she walked- she was horrible at being quiet.  
Catra’ claws dug into the arms of the throne, as she turned rigid.  
And then her shadow. Even her pony tail and that stupid hair poof contorted in a dark, murky green in the ugly twilight of the fight zone.  
Catra shut her eyes tightly. It's not real. And you’re weak for believing it is.  
And then her voice.

“Catra?”  
She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t hurt. She wasn’t even yelling.  
Her voice was soft and warm, and she liked her name when she’d say it.  
All those times shadow weaver would say her name like it tasted rotten made, Catra almost hate her name.  
And then Adora would say it almost like a question; an almost hopeful cadence. Catra. Like she believed in her, like she was wondering if Catra was there. Like she missed Catra too.

“Catra, it’s okay,” she said, but Catra just shut her eyes even more tightly. Waiting for her to disappear.  
But she didn’t.  
And Catra breathed in a familiar scent.  
She remembered the first laundry day in the fright zone after she left.  
She tried hiding her bed sheets, without admitting it to herself that’s what she was doing. Because in the comfort of the night, she’d crawl into them, bundle up the pillows, breathe in her scent, and let herself believe for one beautiful moment that Adora had never left. That her hand would fumble for Catra, and she would caress her clumsily until they both fell asleep to the warm reverberations of Catra’s purring, Adora’s steady breathing, and the hum of the Frightzone.  
She ripped them up, hoping they wouldn’t wash them then, and it worked. At least until one day Adora’s- her bed was unfamiliar again. The sheets were thin, stiff, and cold. And the shredded scraps of what once was, what could have been, was ashes. Shadoweaver probably burned them.  
she hasn’t been able to really sleep since.  
And then Catra felt her touch again for what the first time.  
Adora ran her hand through Catra’s hair, and Catra buried herself into the fabric of Adora’s clothes, still not looking up at her, but knowing, just by her smell, that it was her.  
It was a little different. Faded. Strange.  
But it had been so long, so Catra probably didn’t remember it right.  
Adora tilted Catra’s chin up to look at her, and Adora watched her always angry face, contorted in constant frustration in resentment, soften in her hands.  
And she glowed gold in the murky darkness of the fright zone, her eyes bright blue like pale periwinkle against stark ash. The faintest trace of a smile on her lips- like string being pulled taut for just a moment. As rose bloomed on her skin, on her lips.  
She was so beautiful, and Catra shut her eyes again as soon as she saw her reflection in Adora’s eyes.  
Catra felt the sobs in her throat, she didn’t want to say anything, she didn’t want Adora to see her cry, and know…  
“It’s okay…” She said again, as if repeating it made it true.  
“I’m here… Catra,”  
And then the sobs, and tears, and the control Catra had over her own movements, let themselves go all at once, as Adora pulled her in, and Catra let her.  
She let herself be held before she flung her arms around Adora’s neck, burying her face in the space between Adora’s neck and shoulder.  
The shape of her was so familiar in her arms.  
“I miss you,” Adora whispered. She put her hand to Catra’s cheek, who trembled at her touch, as she caressed the back of Adora’s hand with her own.  
“Adora…” Catra tried, her voice choked, and scratchy.  
“Adora, I-”  
And then Adora smiled, not for just a fleeting moment, for a while, she really smiled.  
“I love you too…. Kitten.”  
Catra shut her eyes when the greenish, murky haze clouded her vision. She let her hand fall from Double trouble’s, whose touch was as cold and unfeeling as the rest of the fright zone.  
She didn’t look up at them. She wanted to pretend, for one beautiful moment, that it was all real.  
The warmth of a superficial Adora’s hand still on her cheek- her body ached.  
“Hate to ruin this little moment for you, but-”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” Catra spat,

“Don’t look so bothered- don’t worry, i’ll keep our little secret,”

“For a price”

And after she paid them, and waited until their footsteps stifled, being sure no one was there to see her, she wrapped her arms around herself. Longing endlessly for someone else, because her hands were too familiar. And Adora, the real Adora, might as well be a stranger, she was so far away.  
But times like this, in the comforts of the night. She’d let herself believe that her few beautiful moments were real. That the heat of the war machines was the warmth of Adora’s touch. And the quiet metallic tinkling of their delicate inner workings was the light cadence of her laugh. But it wasn’t. Her warmth was blistering. And her laugh was the mechanical hum of the fright zone. And Catra was alone.


End file.
